Midnight's Bride

by Sophia Johnson

  He did not intrude on her thoughts. Once he sensed they were serene, he put down the brush, gripped her waist and stood her between his legs as easily as if he lifted a child.

  Turning her to face him, he slid the ribbon free at her waist. The robe slithered open, baring her body from her neck to the lush, ebony curls guarding her sex. His breath caught. He placed his hands on her slender hips and smoothed them in a long caress down to her thighs. He nudged her robe wider to cup her pert bottom. The tips of his fingers caressed her silky skin and teased the hidden area between her legs.

  Netta pushed at his wrists. He ignored her. She would soon grow accustomed to his touch. A rosy blush wandered from her face to her breasts. He pulled her close and nuzzled his face in her perfect stomach. His tongue teased the hollow of her navel; his teeth playfully nipped her skin. With a will of their own, his hands made their way to the sides of her breasts. Drawing back, he admired the sight.

  She stared at his hands. Had she noticed the stark contrast between his tanned skin and her creamy flesh? He watched her while his thumbs traced the pink areola of her breasts. The skin puckered, and a soft sigh escaped her. When he teased a now erect nipple, she shivered. Blushing even more, she again grasped his wrists and tried to pull them away.

  “We should not do this, Mereck. Someone could see us.” She tugged harder. “We should blow out the candles, draw the bed curtains and get beneath the covers.”

  “Who will see, wife? We are alone. I have latched the door.”

  While he watched her trying to think of another excuse, he hid a smile. When she found one, he knew, for her eyes lit.

  “God.” She nodded emphatically.

  “God? You are afraid God will see me make love to my wife?”

  “Not only God. Our guardian angels too. And what about all the spirits who must abide in the castle? These stones have seen many lives come and go. They can all see us.”

  “I believe God and the spirits are much too busy to spend time spying on our bed-sport, wife.”

  When he removed his thumbs and nuzzled his face at the warm skin between her breasts, she sighed with relief. His hot, moist tongue traced circles around a nipple, evoking a moan. One hand splayed across her lower back while he molded and stroked her other breast. When his mouth closed around her nipple and suckled, she turned to liquid fire.

  His hand left her back to roam over her hips and between her legs. His searching fingers found burning heat and wetness seeping there. She was swiftly learning to respond to his touch. He sucked in a deep breath as his eager finger entered her. His heart raced feeling her muscles squeeze it, searing him with her heat.

  Breathing heavy and ragged, he spread his robe wide and rose to slide his naked body up over hers. As his turgid sex caressed her, her eyes closed, and she tilted her head back and sighed with pleasure. He licked her lower lip, then nibbled there until she opened for him. His tongue thrust between her willing lips to explore and tease her. When her breathless whimpers increased and she started pushing frantically against his hand, he carried her to the bed and laid her upon it.

  Mereck’s tarse pulsed in painful demand that he satisfy its need.

  Easing himself between her legs, he gave his tarse a gift.

  He let it beg entrance to paradise.

  If he did not leash his desire, she would soon have the rest of him begging. Wanting Netta’s pleasure in this mating, he nudged his shaft aside, ignoring it. He focused on her responses as his fingers circled and caressed her. When she gasped, thrusting her hips upward, he entered slowly, then withdrew even slower. He played with her tiny pleasure nub until her gasps turned to moans of delight.

  Her hands grabbed his shoulders and she tugged at him, striving to pull him closer. He held back, not giving her what she wanted. She bit his neck, wrapped her legs around him and lunged upward. He chuckled and seated himself firmly. She cried out in satisfaction and jerked up against him. Her unschooled rhythm was spasmodic. Holding her hips, he showed her the way.

  Netta tensed, her eager cries increased. He happily obliged her when her movements became more urgent. His thrusts quickened and became demanding, his gasps louder than hers, his own cries building. Only when her muscles convulsed and squeezed around him did he allow his release. She arched, rigid with her climax. He lunged faster, deeper; his seed exploded from him and flooded against the entry to her womb.

  “Ohh, saaaints!”

  He would have laughed, but he was too occupied trying to catch his heart afore it burst from his body.

  Mereck made love to her again that night, and he did so with amazing frequency. On feeling the first tremors of release, Netta grabbed his hair and pulled his mouth to hers.

  Netta’s loud responses each night to Mereck’s lovemaking embarrassed her, for surely the whole castle heard her. It did not help her dignity having Connor and Eric grin each time they saw her. She was too mortified to worry about Roger and didn’t think it strange that Brianna or Meghan was always at her side.

  After breaking her fast one morn, she and Meghan practiced archery in the rear bailey where Mereck had provided a target for their use. The castle overflowed with guests for Elise and Connor’s wedding. So many strange men were about that Mereck did not want her in the outer bailey.

  She decided a young warrior, Thomas by name, had very light duties, for he was always nearby. After Meghan sent him for goblets of cool water, a strange warrior approached to deliver a message.

  “Milady, the falconer Rory asks that you come at once. Something is amiss with your sparrowhawk.” Gesturing with his hands, he urged Meghan to hurry.

  “Dinna leave the area, Netta,” Meghan warned. “Thomas will return soon, and I canna take ye with me. The mews be full to burstin’ with falcon handlers the guests have brought.” When Netta nodded, Meghan took off at a run, the man behind her.

  Netta sat and leaned back against the target, thinking to rest until Thomas and Meghan returned. Archery training was strenuous work. Her every muscle ached from strain. Though not all were from archery. Most were from another type of practice. She blushed thinking on the praise Mereck had given her newly acquired skills.

  Last eventide, he claimed she had near killed him.

  Netta knew it was praise, because he groaned when he said it.

  A sound intruded on her musing. She tilted her head, listening. A most piteous wail. She stood and walked closer to the sound, but it seemed to draw farther away. Hurrying, she followed the little cries, for now she recognized them. Her Sprite meowed as if needing her help.

  She neared the postern gate and heard the kitten on the other side. With surprise, she noted the gate was unbarred and the lock missing. She looked around, hoping to see Thomas returning, but did not spy him or anyone else she could turn to for help. She feared leaving the castle walls, but she couldn’t leave her helpless kitten to fend for itself.

  Netta shoved the old gate until it opened enough for her to peer around. Sprite was close to the edge of the cliff, caught in a bush with nettled leaves. In her struggles to free herself, she became even more entangled. Poor little mite. Netta squeezed through the gate and rushed to her. She crooned, soothing the kit while she worked to free her. Finally, she clasped Sprite to her breast. The kitten quivered from the cold wind, and the sounds of the pounding surf below. Knowing it would feel more secure, she put her in her tunic pocket.

  The postern door slammed shut. Startled, Netta spun to see the hunched shape of a man coming toward her. Her feet slipped on the loose stones. She lost her balance. Frantic now, she scrambled for firmer footing. The ground crumbled. She started to slip off the edge of the cliff. The man’s fingers clawed at her shoulder, the nails digging furrows in her flesh. Still, her leg scraped over the side. She screamed and grabbed for the prickly bush. The limb she clung to snapped.

  She hurtled downward and soon came to a bone-crunching stop on a narrow ledge, a ledge blessed with a small bent tree that stayed her from falling onto the breakers
below. Though it seemed a far drop, it was not.

  Her pulse raced, and terror had such a firm grip on her that she fought nausea. When she stopped screaming long enough to gather her wits, she swallowed, afraid to turn. If she pressed her back to the cliff wall, she would face the vast emptiness and the pounding surf below. To turn her back to the edge was as frightening. She had best stay on her back.

  Netta gasped, then bit her lip while she checked Sprite. She tried to shield the kitten from seeing their dire predicament. Wrapping her arms around it, she ventured to look up to find how far she had fallen.

  She cried out in surprise.

  Mereck had not killed him!

  The man who had abducted her was very much alive. As if he had not already been repulsive enough, his huge nose was even more offensive than before.

  “Stupid bitch,” he snarled at her. “Stand and give me yer ’ands so I can pull ye up. I warn ye, if ye don’t get yer skinny arse up here, I’ll kill ye flatter’n a cesspit rat.”

  Seeing she did not intend to obey him, he rained curses down on her. He darted fearful glances over his shoulder at the gate. Assured they were yet alone, he hurled rocks at her head. She raised her hands to block them. They struck her forearms, her elbows. She cried out with pain. He scuttled away. Afeared he was going to find a way to get to her, she screamed until her voice almost left her. Unknowing, she cried out one word again and again.

  Mereck.

  She looked to her left. Fear sent vomit spewing from her lips. A very long way down was the teeming ocean. Huge waves burst over the rocks, sending foam and spray flying. She swallowed, determined to look only at the sky. Gulls circled above, their cries raising such a clamor she feared no one would hear her own.

  She squeezed her eyes tight and redoubled her efforts. If she was loud enough, her Mereck would hear her. Finally, the sound of her name came to her. Clutching Sprite to her neck, she blinked between the kit’s ears. Mereck smiled down at her. How could he be so calm? Did he not realize she could plunge to her death?

  Damron, Connor, and almost every man in the castle was there above her. Mereck had a thick rope looped between his legs and knotted around his waist. Damron, Connor and Baron Hugh of Carswell held the other end. They lowered Mereck to the foot of the ledge so falling stones would not strike her. How had he reached her so swiftly? Soon he cradled her against his chest, her head tucked beneath his chin.

  “You may stop screechin’, wife, or I willna hear for the next sennight.” He patted her head when she shut her mouth. “Do you know you howled near as loudly as when we are lovin’? ’Tis how I knew it was you and not some lovelorn lass pining for a tall Highlander to come to her.”

  His outlandish remarks had the desired effect. She didn’t notice she was dangling in her husband’s arms—over a cliff.

  When they stood on firm ground, he waited to have the rope removed.

  “Sweet Christ, woman. Why in all your blessed saints’ names did you decide to sit on a ledge?” His shouting near blew her hair back from her face.

  Netta was not frightened anymore. She was angry.

  She snuggled Sprite between her breasts and glared. She told Mereck exactly why she was laying, not sitting, on the cursed ledge. When she finished her story, she was no longer angry at him.

  Mereck was angry, though. Beyond angry. He was livid. Nay, furious was more like it. The other men were livid.

  After her husband carried her to the keep, he left her in the women’s care. Soon after, they heard the thunder of galloping horses pounding over the drawbridge. Tripping over their feet in haste, the women raced to the window.

  “They go to find the bluidy bastard. Ye need not fear the man again, for I ken he willna return without him.” Meghan spoke with calm conviction.

  Netta’s gaze followed to where the women stared.

  M’Famhair streaked ahead of Damron and the warriors.

  His lips drawn in a snarl, Baresark straddled the steed’s bare back.

  Chapter 25

  Fools! They believe I search for Lynette’s attacker to avenge her. Roger knew where the lout hid, but he would not lead Blackthorn’s warriors to him. Thinking of his plans, his heartbeat quickened. He slowed his mount until he dropped behind, then eased the horse around and made his way to the meeting place.

  Late evening found Damron’s searchers a short distance from their northeastern border. Damron’s squire, Spencer, found the body. When the young man retched all he had eaten that day, no one blamed him. To distract him, Damron sent him to gather the rest of the warriors to this spot.

  The body lay in a small clearing, with arms and legs tied to four different trees. The killer had crushed the victim’s hands. A bloody rock rested beside the left wrist.

  He must have stuffed the man’s mouth with cloth, for the material now rested beneath the bloody head. His tongue lay stretched across his forehead. The eyes were missing. The bulbous nose no longer adorned his face, nor were his ears where they should be. The three lay between his legs where his sex had been. The killer had stuffed the man’s prick into his mouth. His ballocks lay one on each side of his head.

  “Lucifer’s pox’d tarse. What manner of man could have done this?” Connor’s horrified voice interrupted Damron’s study of the body.

  “No sane man, but one embracing madness.” Damron glanced up as Mereck squatted beside him.

  Mereck studied the body in the same detached way. He, Connor and Marcus agreed it was Netta’s abductor. Mereck raised his eyebrows questioningly at Damron.

  “Do you see the pattern, or do I imagine it?” When his brother nodded, Mereck continued. “His was no random killing. For certs, it relates to my wife. The madman tortured the varlet for failing his duty.

  “He plucked out his eyes for he saw Netta unclothed; his nose because he smelled her scent; his ears for hearing her voice; his tongue because he dared try to kiss her; his hands for touching. Not the least was his sex.”

  “Aye, but how did his master learn of it?” Damron asked. “He couldna been stupid eneuch to tell the man his deeds?”

  Connor raked his fingers through his hair and shook his head.

  “He had no need. We passed many men on the paths when we brought Netta back to Blackthorn. Any one of them could have seen her battered condition. Word could have reached him on how the lout treated her.” He rose and frowned a warning that someone approached.

  “Merciful God! If this is the Highlander’s way of taking revenge, I must tell you it is monstrous.” Mortain held a lacy, perfumed cloth to his mouth and gagged daintily.

  “Don’t be an ass,” Baron Carswell voice lashed out. When Roger drew up his shoulders in shock and stepped back, his expression fearful, the baron glared at him in contempt.

  As was his habit, Mereck kept his face impassive. Roger disgusted him. Did the man pay the king a scutage tax to avoid the sight of blood? Mereck strove to hear his thoughts, but it was as if the man kept his mind on naught but trivial happenings apurpose.

  They cut the ropes binding the body to the trees. They did not bury the remains deep. The wolves and animals of the forest would clean the forest of carrion.

  Since it was too late to return to Blackthorn this night, they rode west for several leagues before making camp. In unspoken agreement, Damron, Mereck and Connor kept their eyes on the Englishmen.

  Netta feared Mereck delayed his return because he did not trust himself to deal with her. She should have found someone to go with her to search for Sprite. At the time, its cries had frightened her, and she had not thought it through.

  Feeling far too alone to be comfortable, she couldn’t fall asleep. And she was cold. She missed his massive, hot body alongside hers.

  She padded to the door and looked out onto the hallway to find Sir Thomas, a Saxon knight who came in Brianna’s original escorts from England, posted there. When she told him what she wished to do, he nodded and escorted her to Meghan’s room. She would sleep with her and Elise. They would
never know she was there.

  They knew.

  Burrowing under the covers like a squirrel hiding from a hawk, she crawled between the two sleeping women. Her sigh failed to awake them, but when she could not get warm, she scooted tight against Elise’s back. Unfortunately, she nudged her off the bed. Elise’s shriek of alarm brought Thomas, sword in hand, charging into the room.

  The poor man’s eyes stretched wide at the sight of three beautiful and scantily clad women, their hair tumbling about their faces. He swallowed and backed out of the room.

  Shortly after the sun rose on a misty morn, the warriors returned. Netta was glad she was in the hall with the other women. She didn’t want to be alone with Mereck when he remembered she had broken her word and went outside the postern gate. By chance he had not yelled at her before because he had seen how affrighted she had been.

  She hated that everyone knew her weakness about heights. Meghan did not have this fear, for she had watched the Scotswoman climb to the highest point of a tree. Megan’s reason was very strange. She did it for the fun of it.

  Netta studied the warriors entering the hall. Not a speck of blood stained any of them. Seeing Mereck bore no new cuts or bruises on his face, she sighed with relief. Before the men retired to Damron’s solar, Mereck told her they found her abductor. He had been killed in an accident. He didn’t explain what the accident had been.

  Netta started to leave the room with Meghan and Elise when Roger’s loud voice speaking to the blacksmith stopped her.

  “Sharpen my sword to a fine edge. It appears Blackthorn harbors a berserk murderer close. Why, did you know he trussed and butchered a man much like one would a boar? Even plucked the eyes from his head. When we came upon the scene, Baresark still knelt beside the body.”

  Baron Carswell came through the doorway startling Elise into a shriek. With lips compressed in disapproval, Carswell glared at Roger.